Vignettes des Canelle Tornade et Catherine Porter
It’s not entirely clear what Catherine has been up to between when she lived at home with her father and joined with the party. For the past four years she had been a professional ballerina in Vrailumiere (working version of Paris), but she lost control on stage (mirroring episodes in her backstory) several months ago, and hasn’t been seen since. Although Catherine Porter was fairly well known as a ballerina, she would not have been famous enough that people would recognize her, especially after her transformation. Wealthy families who spent lots of time in Vrailumiere might note some resemblance, if they are frequent ballet-goers, but it shouldn’t be enough for them to think anything of it. Ballet is also not a big enough deal there for her absence to be a big scandal or public news. When she met the party, she had long red hair, and was going by the stage name she adopted, Canelle Tornade. ' ' Physical description: age 10 years, height 4’6”, dark blonde hair, fair skin, golden eyes with flecks of green, from a major port city ' ' A young Catherine Porter sits in her large, cluttered room on top of pillows she has piled high. The foundation is not steady, and she almost tumbles off when she sighs dramatically. She is bored. Well, she would be, if that were a fate she accepted. She stands, shakily, and jumps off the pile, trying hard to keep her feet from touching the ground. She of course is not successful, crashing to the floor, catching herself with her hands and propelling herself up and through her bedroom door. Catherine Porter has heard a storm. She runs outside--her governess tries to stop her with shouts of “you’ll catch pneumonia! you’ll ruin your beautiful dress! Aren’t you the most wild child I’ve ever met!” but Catherine does not listen to her pleads. She lets her body be pelted by torrential rain, and she spins, faster and faster and faster, pretending, neigh, knowing that she is part of the wind, part of the rain, as free and powerful and limitless as the elements. ' ' Physical description: age 12 years, height 5’3”, bright blonde hair, fair skin, eyes: golden with flecks of green, heavily lined with charcoal. ' ' Catherine Porter’s bleached blonde hair is tight and neat in a french twist. She slowly and gracefully practices chaine on pointe as her instructor watches and makes small corrections to her form. When her instructor leaves, Catherine Porter pushes the pace so that her body becomes a blur. She sparks small faerie lights to dance with her. ' ' Physical description: age 13 years, height 5’5”, black hair, fair skin, eyes: golden with flecks of green, lips stained with purple blackberries ' ' Catherine Porter converses in french with her tutor and devours every book she can get her hands on. Catherine Porter plays with knives. ' ' Physical description: age 14 years, height 5’5”, dark blonde hair at the roots, bottom half is black, fair skin, eyes: golden with flecks of green ' ' Catherine Porter eats dinner with her father every night he is home. He talks to her about his travels across the world on business--he would much rather be at home in the comfort of his spacious manor than off in unfamiliar lands where he struggles to feel rooted. He considers delegating travel responsibilities and running his trading company from Portland. Catherine tells her father she wants to see the world. He responds, “but you are my world…” He also hires a well known cartographer to enrich her studies. ' ' Physical description: age 15 years, height 5’6”, dark blonde hair, fair skin, eyes: golden with flecks of green, lightly lined with charcoal; lips stained lightly with red berries ' ' Catherine Porter has been finding her own ways to enrich her studies. ' ' Age: 15 ' ' “It’s been quite awhile since you’ve bled.” “It’s an elf thing” says Catherine sharply, without looking up from her book. “Oh, pardon me dear, I didn’t realize motherhood while you’re still a child was an elf thing.” …. “you know they’d be pleased, if you told them, assuming it’s his of course. It is his? Well, they wouldn’t need to know if it weren’t. You’d be married within the month, and everything your families have wanted would come to fruition, just a little earlier than planned….” ….. “that’s not what you want is it? No, you’re not fit to be a mother. You’d run off as soon as the wee thing cried. That’s an elf thing.” She waits for a response. When she doesn’t get one, she drops a heavy parcel on Catherine’s floor. “It’s rough stuff dear. You won’t like it one bit….” “……..go see Eldonna, if you don’t want to go through this again.” Catherine was violently ill for the next week. She had a condition, Tilda told her father, one that she would need to see Eldonna weekly to keep at bay. ' ' Last Sighting (Age 22) ' ' The curtain’s rising. It’s dark green. Why is it green? God I hate green. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it. ' ' A thick dark green curtain shields 11 ballerinas from the view of the audience. In front center, adorned in a gleaming golden bodice and sparkling tulle, her dark blonde hair is pinned into a perfect French twist as she takes measured breaths. Her closed eyes open slowly as she senses the curtain rising. An even smile is painted onto her face. All eleven look like perfect matching dolls. Almost. She is a little different. A little taller, a little stronger. They all had perfect technique, but somehow hers was different. Maybe it was from the fire she could not hide from her eyes, or the way her steps were on beat but somehow seemed to force the music forward. ' ' But the curtain was rising in the largest theatre in Vrailumiere, the most prominent theatre in the world. Front and center. This wasn’t her first time. Not at all. But that god-awful curtain. There’s nothing that can be done with green. The darkness of forest, the depth of the unknown covering all, then lifted so suddenly. Light. Light shone all over her. She was dazzling. When had the music started? When had she started moving? Eleven ballerinas, almost in harmony. Ten dancing around her. They’re just spinning, but she’s part of the music. It speeds. They cannot keep up. They’ll never keep up. They’re too slow. Again the music speeds, crescendos and falls with her movements. They’ve stopped. Murmurs from the audience get louder. They don’t understand. They’re too slow. The music gets faster, and she falls. ' ' Francois Villeverte sat front and center, in the place that was permanently reserved for him. He remembered hearing of her first audition. They hadn’t wanted to take her—the skill was there, but she was too young, and had an energy to her that seemed all too incompatible with ballet. He told them ballet could use a revival, and she might just be the one to bring it. If they didn’t hire her, he said, another city would, and this was Vrailumiere! If it wasn’t the site of cultural beginnings, what would it be? Nothing. And where would their jobs be? If change was coming, they had best be the bringers of it. At the mention of their jobs, Catherine was hired—Francois Villeverte, despite his age, was not a man to argue with. She was his favorite ballerina, and he had chosen this song particularly for her. He fought to keep a smile off his wrinkled face, and thought hard of troubling things, like the task of finding trust-worthy hired help, the rising cost of oil-paints, and the reality that the city expected him to die soon. He kept the scowl on his face and the disappointed look in his old eyes. He grasped weakly for his cane, and slowly stood up on shaking legs. He saw the horror-stricken faces of the other ballerinas, and heard the critique of self-important audience-members. He couldn’t help but laugh. He quickly turned his laugh into a coughing fit and stumbled on his cane. A nearby woman rushed over to steady him. He mumbled his thanks, and began to shuffle out of the theatre. He glanced back at his fallen ballerina, and his heart filled with pride. It was the most brilliant performance he had ever seen. ' ' The next morning What’s the opposite of green? She could not face the light, not yet. So Red, blood red, gleaming crimson. She would make it part of her. ' ' *this section was written with the expectation that our characters would be level 8. It is now a scene from the future =) * ' ' Physical description: age 30 years (but she’ll never tell you that), height 5’10”, (dyed) red hair, solid build (for a half-elf), golden eyes with flecks of green, --from Vrailumiere, Decoeur ' ' A woman--a remarkable woman--gesticulates dramatically in the center of a wealthy family’s living room. Her hair falls in waves over her sun-tanned shoulders, and shines almost redder than her crimson skirt. An intricate golden bustier graces her waist, and covers just enough of her ample bust to allow her to pass in respectable company. ' ' “How did I get here?” “Circle round, sit, it’s a long story…” *Fairie lights circle the family, then light the woman from behind and all around* ' ' You see, I did not always have the good fortune I enjoy today. Bad luck seemed to permeate through the very fabric of my life--*the woman smoothly displays a silk veil, and slowly strokes her hand gently across its face, as all but one of the lights fade behind her*-- I was found, a mere babe, on the steps of a church in Vrailumiere, with no note, not a hint of where I was from. In the early morning hours, a good gypsy woman--*snickers from the audience* ' ' *The woman’s body goes rigid, her veil falls to the floor, and she seems to lift off of the ground-no, she does lift off the ground. Her hands fill with fire, and snickers from the audience cease. Her body relaxes, and she smiles. Her delicate slippers again touch the floor* ' ' “A gypsy woman, pure of heart,” *She looks pointedly at the offending audience member*, “but short on coin, retrieved my abandoned body from the cold, hard steps.” ' ' *the last light winks out as she picks up, and cradles the veil like a baby--all at once, the lights again shine with intensity* ' ' “And although the two of us often went hungry as I grew, the good woman showed me the meanings of Love, Respect *pointed look*... and Kindness”. “She taught me how to dance, and of the ways of men, so that we would be provided for, and never...taken advantage of.” ' ' *Knives begin to spiral around the woman* ' ' “Many a man would have tried, but when you dance with daggers, few tend to enter your bed. Without...Invitation.” ' ' She quickens, “Or, deprive you of what you’re due.” *lights dance around each of the audience members and concentrate on their coin purses* ' ' “Ah, right, where was I...Oh yes, bad luck permeated the fabric of my life….” *lights extinguish again* ' ' 13 Murtul 1374 (father) “You know that should be you. Bryan’s a good man, you know. Not many like him out there. A good, honest life is nothing to scoff at Catherine.” ' ' “...and to have an heir. I know you’ve got plenty of years with your mother’s blood running through you, but I don’t. To be honest I’m a little surprised you didn’t conceive sooner. You were together for so long. We gave you plenty of time and space….Anyway, it’s fine if you don’t want to run the company, but I built it from the ground up, it’s been my life’s work. I’d like to keep it in the family. It’ll fall apart or I’ll have to sell it if I can’t train someone and pass it on. I thought maybe Bryan, then your child…” ' ' “It’s not too late you know. He probably still loves you. The boy was heartbroken when you left. You at least left him a letter or something, right? … His family isn’t fond of you, to say the least, but they’ve always known a marriage between our families would be a godsend for them. They’re running out of money you know. We have a thriving business.” ' ' 14 Murtul 1374 ' ' The woman’s dress was a very pale lavender, so pale, in fact, that it almost appeared grey in the right lighting. It had layers and layers and layers of ruffled tulle, which could have been interesting, on the right frame, but it overwhelmed her tiny body. A thin strand of diamonds adorned her neck--Catherine wondered if they were real. ' ' But next to her, there he was. Catherine never wanted to be his wife. She never wanted to be anyone’s wife. But still, it bothered her seeing him next to her. In their adolescence, Catherine and Bryan had run into her many times, but she was unremarkable in every way, so they never paid her any attention. Catherine had heard that she was quiet, respectful and reliable. Maybe that’s all he wanted. ' ' Catherine made eye contact. He shifted his weight, and checked his cufflinks. ' ' 14 Murtul 1374 (town gossip) “Quite a bit of pomp for those families to afford, don’t you think? Oh, and her dress! Ghastly thing! Maybe that’s harsh. You could definitely tell her side doesn’t know much about the value of simple elegance though! I can imagine what you’d look like in her place. Simple satin? No, that’s what your father would choose for you. I’m sure whatever you ended up with would be better than their choice. Those two are a strange pair, don’t you think?” ' ' “you know, we always thought it would be you with him! Pelor knows we caught you two in every nook and cranny in the town!” ' ' “Any men in your life now dear? You look like you’ve filled out some, are you with child? Ha, no, I guess that’s never a safe question! You’re the age though, you know! You elfs may have a little extra time, but never push your luck, that’s what I say! Wouldn’t be hard for you to find a father for your child! Tell him you chew the root and he’ll never be the wiser! That’s how I ended up with my little Stephen. You know, Stephen will be 16 soon. Don’t look at me like that dear, that’s not so young!” ' ' 18 Murtul 1374 ' ' Catherine walked into Isabelle’s home with dark blonde hair and 7 leather-bound volumes of ledgers and beginner’s business books. ' ' Isabelle was a seamstress with a knack for performing all kinds of minor alterations. Most importantly, her discretion could be bought with a few extra gold pieces. Canelle left Isabelle’s home with her crimson red hair hidden in a scarf, and 7 books with titles like “Seduce, Surprize and Slay: Getting Shit Done with Style”, and “Finding your Inner Star”